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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28744764">You're a Song, Written by the Hands of Gods.</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/daughterofspring/pseuds/daughterofspring'>daughterofspring</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Narcos (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Military, Angst with a Happy Ending, Carrillo As his own warning, Carrillo's arms, Eventual Smut, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Romance</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 07:21:11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,074</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28744764</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/daughterofspring/pseuds/daughterofspring</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Yet, now he wonders, whether another woman would have been able to endure it better— whether someone could have bound those pieces together into more. If a woman could have been contented enough with all he had to give because even in slivers, he gave all he could. </p>
<p>Would SHE understand? </p>
<p>* a love story, in fragments, made whole. For the Colonel and his Maria.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Horacio Carrillo/Original Female Character(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>You're a Song, Written by the Hands of Gods.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Disclaimer** </p>
<p>Obviously I do not own the character of Horacio Carrillo but he's the only one I feel comfortable writing because he's based on someone and not actually a real person. But, I just adore him as a character and where that might sound strange, I think there's a complexity to his emotions and the kind of man that does whatever it takes to get a job done because someone has to. </p>
<p>anyways, this is an AU setting and there will be no mention of *p*blo*. none. I would have written all the dialogue in Spanish but unfortunately I only speak and understand it...and that's spanglish so italics are assumed Spanish. pet names will be in Spanish. </p>
<p>enjoy.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">War was a beast, simple as that.</p>
<p class="p2">It wouldn’t require a poets interpretation to say as much. It devoured the innocence of boys, spitting out shells of men, vacant of mind and plunged into the depths of trauma that most would wade and temper. And for some, a very select few no less— it shaped them into something all enduring. Weathered and molded by gun-smoke, lead and ichor stained palms. For men like Horacio Carrillo, war curled around every tendon, waged in the very depths of his soul for the betterment of his character. A mirror of Ares personified, every ridge of muscle had committed regiment to memory, as if the god himself had inhabited the colonels body. But what are warriors to make of a world without bloodshed? And to survive, well that was something else entirely.</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">Pieces of Miami reminded him of home; the ocean breeze, the melting pot of south American cuisine on every corner, and, while the military base was entirely americanized, it still permeated language and cause. War was still currency here, packaged and expedited around the world on uncle sam’s dime. It’s why he was here. Far from anyone he had ever loved and the imprint of that had faded from his finger, the ring shoved away in some junk drawer as if it were nothing more than another mismatched button. His wife had left a long while ago, stayed in Columbia and remarried so quickly to a man with clean hands and a whiter picket fence— she wanted kids, she wanted a husband who sat down for dinner every evening then fell asleep beside her at a reasonable hour. Horacio couldn’t fault her for that, not at all. His work had always consumed his mind, body and soul, what was left of his heart had been sealed off and given in small fragments.</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">Yet, now he wonders, whether another woman would have been able to endure it better— whether someone could have bound those pieces together into more. If a woman could have been contented enough with all he had to give because even in slivers, he gave all he could.</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">Would <em>SHE</em> understand?</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p3"><em><span class="s1">“</span> <span class="s3">Coronel</span> ? “</em> She croons, softly. A velvety palm gliding over his bicep, calling him back to earth with an etheral gaze. Not quite brown, not quite green — a hue so quick to become his favourite.</p>
<p class="p3">He’s come to understand certain way Spanish tilts the accent of those American born but latin souled. Not unlike his own in a way. But HER voice is like honey, like the sweetest cumbia he has ever heard and it strikes both the deepest fear and the brightest joy within him.</p>
<p class="p4"> </p>
<p class="p3">“ <em>Maria, you don’t need to call me that</em>.” He counters, of course. Ignoring for a moment how it speaks to a carnal longing deep in his chest.Carrillo wants to bend beyond their encounters, wants to reach out with stained palms and thread his calloused fingers through a stray curl.</p>
<p class="p4"> </p>
<p class="p3">“ <em>Maybe I like how it sounds.</em>” Oh, she’s teasing him now. Words pouring from full lips along with the smoke of a shared cigarette. A routine they had shared for several months. Her shifts at the officers mess hall less and less, these moments in silence and moonlight spent peaking across the sea. “But you didn’t answer me, <em>Horacio</em>.” He likes that much better, like his name had been chosen for her to say.</p>
<p class="p4"> </p>
<p class="p3">Shit. He didn’t even remember the question. The colonels thoughts had been wrapped so tightly, bordering self loathing until they drift to the woman in front of him. He smiles then, eyes sparking with a boyish wonderment he had wrote off a long while ago. “ <em>You distracted me.</em>” A playful tone claws its way to the surface as he leans against the railing, fingers brushing her own as he takes the cigarette and brings it to his lips.</p>
<p class="p4"> </p>
<p class="p3">He see’s it, the flush tinting golden cheeks. Though, Carrillo never missed much, if anything at all. Though, you’d have to be completely blind not to notice a woman like Maria and by his observation, not a single officer passed through that mess without a smile, a greeting, hell; a cheesy pick up line or two. They all preened and pined to be in her grace, to be on the receiving end of her soft grin and sharp wit because even in her gentleness, there was a fire only carried by latina’s. The cornel was no better than the rest, he admonished but the only difference was that she openly offered him bits and pieces of her soul. Ones offered in shared moments like these. He learned about her. Of the spitfire abuelita from just outside barranquilla that raised she and her older brother, he listened to every detail she would offer about her road to this point in life. Following her dream to become a veterinarian because she just wants to help, her absolute adoration for pitbulls and passion to change their reputation. For his part, he opens up a little more each time, cautious of wording, careful not to allow too much of his past to slip so easily. He knows she can see past it, how he tiptoes around mentions of violence and war, or names of villains the world was more than familiar with. He should divulge more but she never presses him, never stares back with disinterest or judgement. Those eyes, earthen and deep rooting him back each time. He wants to curl his frame around her, give into his most selfish desires once pushed aside for country and god and claim her as his own. BUT, she wasn’t a trophy to be hoisted above his head, wasn’t a medal of honour to be polished and paraded around.</p>
<p class="p4"> </p>
<p class="p3">He was in love with Maria.</p>
<p class="p4"> </p>
<p class="p3">Someone had wounded her, too. Broken off pieces of her spirit bit by bit until he left her bleeding out. Maria had laughed when Horacio offered to hunt the fucker down and have a word… if only she knew how serious he had been. So he moved slowly, and to the detriment of his own longing. His need to just be near her, his desire to have every part of her and give all he possibly could back. Even if it meant stripping himself down to skin and bones to shield her from pain.</p>
<p class="p4"> </p>
<p class="p3">“ I asked.” Her head tilts. “ If you wanted to come to my abeulita’s on Friday to celebrate. And she’s worried that there’s a columbian boy walking around miami without her empanadas in his stomach.” That earned a chuckle from him, one Maria would collect and savour into the night.</p>
<p class="p4"> </p>
<p class="p3">She is in love with the cornel.</p>
<p class="p4"> </p>
<p class="p3">Horrendously so. Whether she realized under the light of his smile in that very moment, or a month ago when he brought her favourite sancocho from ten blocks away because the food in the mess was too bland for her taste, it was impossible to say. Truthfully, Maria had never indulged any officer she served drinks beyond the kind of tips amiability can muster until, Horacio Carrillo. The first time, he was accompanied by some regulars, a brigadier general and his underlying vying for any ounce of praise. The cornel was a stark contrast, casual fatigues patched with two flags, epaulets prim and pressed, straight-faced, jaw set and as serious as every order he carried out. He was an imposing figure, even next to men who wore their medals for all to see, for all to respect and fear but, he didn’t need any of that to earn an ounce of admiration.His presence, his stance alone commanded the room and anyone in it. Maria hadn’t hesitated the moment he opened his mouth, the brogue steady and softened, his lips twitching in what she could only assume was a light jarring. He hadn't expected the perfect two finger pour of liquid, nor the bottle of aguardiente placed beside it accompanied by a knowing grin and a greeting in their shared mother-tongue. For the few months that would follow, he would learn her schedule, she would learn his and be it the end of her shift or the end of his, they would share several cigarettes and unravel each other's souls bit by bit.</p>
<p class="p4"> </p>
<p class="p3">She’s staring now, expectedly, blithely and pleading on the inside that he simply says yes. She’s been patient, cautious even not to move too quickly knowing what he lost in the span of years — better he be certain but with every interaction, passing even, she became more impatient to her own desires. Those dark eyes stared back with a gentle brand of intensity he had come to reserve for only Maria. “ Well, I can’t let your abuela worry, can I ?” Carrillo snuffs out the embers of their shared vice, stepping close enough to catch the subtle scents of citrus and rose. A contrast to cedar and cinnamon invading her own space.</p>
<p class="p4"> </p>
<p class="p3">He’s so close now, pouring over her features as any soldier would a flower in the middle of a battlefield; as if she were the only beauty left in the world amidst the chaos and voidspace of war. “ No, you certainly cannot.” The words catch on the hitch of her breath.</p>
<p class="p4"> </p>
<p class="p3">Rough fingers graze her cheek with the utmost care and she cannot help the way she bends, the way she chases them. His eyes are nearly onyx against the night sky, they flutter over her lips before they raise again, silently asking for a permission she grants; mouths meeting in a savouring kiss. The first. And a silent prayer is shared between them that it not be the last. It's slow and consuming, her fingers moving of their own accord to graze the carve of his cheek, another threading through his dark tresses, his arms— his arms wrap around her waist, drawing her soft curves against his solid warmth. The kiss deepens, both reeling in the taste of fire whisky and the essence so unique to one another. She's drowning, he’s holding on beneath the surface, glad to let his lungs burn if this is what it feels like. The shackles of pinning breaking apart with each shattering movement of lips, of greedy hands wherever they roam.</p>
<p class="p4"> </p>
<p class="p3">ring, ring His tongue parts her pout, devouring her whole as violence tarnished palms swirl up the dip of her back, a moan passing between them. Ring, ring. The colonel growls as he pulls back, his work phone, his stupid fucking phone. “ <span class="s3">lo siento cariño.” He croons, annoyance clearly marked towards the device going off in his pocket. He refuses to let go of her, one hand holding steady as she whimpers softly, breath stuttered, lips flushed. All Maria can muster in the moment is a nod, fingers clutching his shirt as she hovers back to earth. </span></p>
<p class="p3">
  <span class="s3">“ Carrillo—“ he snips, answering the phone with such an edge she has to take a deep breath just to quell the flourish of heat settling in her chest. </span>
</p>
<p class="p4"> </p>
<p class="p3">
  <span class="s3">But she recovers herself, lips trailing softly over his ridged jawline— soothing away the sudden stress tensing his frame. The smallest smile cracks his lips, even when his voice comes rigged and severe. “Fine. I’ll be up.” And for the first time in his military career, he wishes he told them to fuck themselves. Horacio hangs up, the mobile snapping shut as a testament to his vexation but when he looks down, she’s gazing up without expectations yet so full of tenderness it makes his chest wrench. </span>
</p>
<p class="p4"> </p>
<p class="p3">
  <span class="s3">He doesn’t want to leave her. “ It’s Peña— I have to go.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p3">
  <span class="s3">She doesn’t want him to go and yet. “ It’s okay, I understand.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p4"> </p>
<p class="p3">
  <span class="s3">He's expecting guilt to tempt him. To reflect in her eyes the way he remembered it so well in others. The cornel was half expecting her to furrow her brows and push him back. Instead, she plants her lips at the corner of his mouth and re-fastens a button on his collar she had peeled back in their embrace with a honeyed grin. “ Perfect.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p5"> </p>
<p class="p6">The word sits inside him, perfect wasn’t enough to describe her, it would never be enough and yet she had used it to describe a damn button. “ Call me when you get home.” His mouth speaks before his mind can catch up and even when it does, they’re in full agreement.</p>
<p class="p5"> </p>
<p class="p6">“ You have to work.” She counters.</p>
<p class="p6">“ I don’t care.” <em>A first for Horacio Carrillo.</em></p>
<p class="p6"> </p>
<p class="p6">                                                                                                                </p>
<p class="p6"> </p>
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